


better to scream

by mnemememory



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-04-12 00:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemememory/pseuds/mnemememory
Summary: When Molly dies, there is nothing but silence.(or; the pacific rim fusion that absolutely no one asked for but i desperately wanted to write)





	1. Chapter 1

...

...

**better to scream**

...

...

Over the years, Yasha has heard of ghost drifting.

Of course she has. In this profession, rumours are almost always more reliable than whatever new strange thing the scientists have cooked up to try. With such experimental technology, it was a safe bet to trust the instincts of those who had gone before rather than simply hoping for the best.

Beau complains about it all the time. How she always has Jester’s voice in her head telling her about her latest prank, or how cute Fjord looks. Fjord always rolls his eyes. Jester just laughs because “of course I have their voices in my head, where else would I keep them?”

When Molly dies, there is nothing but silence.

...

...

The man is a stranger.

It’s fitting, almost. Yasha tells herself that she wasn’t expecting anything different when she walked off that helicopter, but she’s always been a bad liar. It’s probably for the best. She doesn’t know if a familiar face would have broken her or not.

“Good evening,” the man says with a placid smile. He is taller than her, which is unusual enough to warrant attention, with pastel pink hair and cow-soft eyes. “My name is Caduceus Clay. My sister is the one in charge of fixing  _Necrotic Shroud_.”

Yasha clenches her jaw and says nothing.

Caduceus Clay doesn’t seem too put off by her standoffish presence. He simply gives her another vacant look and gestures her towards the door.

It’s raining. Yasha walks over wet asphalt, boots heavy in the puddles. It hadn’t been so obvious from above, but from ground level everything has a distinctly rough edge to it. Yasha may not have been here for the first building blocks, but the whole building complex had been new and in good condition upon her abrupt departure. A lot appears to have happened in two years.

They wait a good ten minutes for the elevator which never comes, so Caduceus Clay ushers her towards the fire escape just a few feet down the hall. Their footsteps echo in the hollow metal chamber, the light casting a sepia tone over the surroundings. Caduceus Clay’s skin is painted in orange heughs, his eyes gleaming yellow.

Yasha looks away.

They eventually make it down to the correct level –  _number seven_ , Yasha notices with detachment – and step out of the stiflingly warm confines of the staircase to something far colder – and familiar. Yasha feels an unpleasant chill run across her skin as she walks out into the hanger room. There are ghosts here, in Yasha’s head, but they’re not the right ones.

“This way,” Caduceus Clay says. Yasha doesn’t move.

The first time she ever came to the Shutterdome, the sky was bleached white-blue and the ocean sparkled green. Molly was next to her, talking. He was always talking. Yasha followed him through the throngs of people who were gathering around the stairwell. They were all looking up at the overhanging railing with clear expectation.

“This place is amazing,” Molly said.

Yasha shrugged. It was certainly big.

“There are so many people here,” he said. “This is so much bigger than the circus. There are – what, a thousand people? Two thousand? I can’t imagine what it would be like to perform for so many people.”

That cracked a smile across Yasha’s face. “You weren’t a performer,” she said.

Molly’s grin was sly as he flared out his uniform-noncompliant multi-coloured cloak. A few people dodged out of the way of the flowing fabric.

“They don’t know that.”

“Miss Yasha?” Caduceus Clay says. He patiently waits for Yasha to blink her way out of the memory before urging her to the side so as to not disrupt the trickling flow of traffic.

 _A thousand people? Two thousand_?

Try twenty.

Yasha eyes the skeleton staff with no little wariness. They all look a shade short of exhausted, with hair pulled up and bruises around their eyes. As she watches, one of the engineers stumbles off to the side and collapses against the wall, the palms of his hands pressed tight to his temples. Another engineer breaks off to check on him, but quickly gets back to work when he waves her off.

Caduceus Clay follows her eyes. “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment,” he says easily. “But Clarabelle’s people are good people. They’ll get things up and running in time.”

“Clarabelle,” Yasha says. “Your sister.”

“I’ll introduce you two later,” Caduceus Clay says. “She probably won’t thank us for interrupting. I’ll show you where you can put your things and then we can get something to eat.”

Yasha gives the hanger one last casual glance before turning around and looking at what she’s been avoiding ever since she entered.

 _Necrotic Shroud_  is a tomb of a thing, black and grey and matte. It towers above the other Jaegers lined up. Yasha’s eyes run over the armour plating, the deceptively delicate lines of its hydraulic musculature, the thickened gauntlets. Her lady is in mourning; the paint no longer bares Molly’s distinctive paintwork. He would sit on  _Necrotic Shroud’s_  shoulders for hours at a time and drive the engineers to tears with the paint fumes.

Seeing her like this, naked, is a punch to the gut.

“Hey, beautiful,” she whispers. Her voice manages to come out steady, which is a pleasant surprise. Everything else about Yasha is shaking.

“She’s the last Mark II in existence,” Caduceus Clay says. “She’s one of a kind.”

Yasha thinks of Molly’s paintings, the way feathers and vines flowed their way messily along  _Necrotic Shroud’s_  ribcage and spiralled out from the shoulders.  _She always was_ , she wants to say, but she’s so tired.

“Who else is here?”

Even with the Jaegers filling up the open space, there’s something hollow about the Shatterdome. Maybe it’s because this place was built for so many more. Yasha can see empty bays that have been repurposed into scrapheaps, where busy engineers scavenged and discarded pieces.

Caduceus starts walking. After a few seconds of hesitation, Yasha decides to follow him.

“Here, we have  _Converging Fury_ ,” he says, waving to the Jaeger set up in the bay next to  _Necrotic Shroud_. It is compactly built – a Mark IV, if Yasha can read the specs right – with a massive metal staff with a circular knob at one end secured alongside it.  The sleekness of the design makes Yasha absurdly uncomfortable – compared to  _Necrotic Shroud_ , the plating looks flimsy and useless, sacrificing armour for manoeuvrability.

 _How many hits will this take before crumbling?_  Yasha wonders. It’s a design strategy, she knows, and yet. And yet.

“She’s piloted by Keg and Nila, who should be around here somewhere,” Caduceus Clay says. “Well, Nila should be here somewhere. Keg is very good at showing up in unexpected places.”

Yasha nods.

“They’re from around Shadycreek Run way,” he says. “Northeast of Zadash. Twelve drops, twelve kills. Nine of those were solo. They’re a good team.”

“Sounds like it,” Yasha says.

Caduceus Clay moves on.

“This is  _Dragon Slayer_ ,” he says, gesturing to a frankly haphazard Jaeger. Half of its torso is covered in uniform black scaled armour, while the rest of a patchwork of whatever had been made available at the time. Yasha can see the corpses of at least three Jaeger’s that she’s served with stitched into its skeleton, and her stomach squirms uncomfortably.

Caduceus Clay glances at her, reading the hesitation in her body.

“We had to get creative when things started to get decommissioned,” he says. “Some of these are spare parts, but some were ripped wholesale off whatever we could save. Well” – here, he ducks his head – “I say  _we_. My sister is the engineer in the family. I’m just an administrator.”

 _Some administrator_ , Yasha thinks, eyeing the whipcord muscles underneath his skinny frame.

“In any case, this beautiful creature is piloted by Twiggy and Calianna. They were originally stationed out by Nicodranis, but they moved basically anywhere they were needed. Towards the end, that was basically everywhere. Now they’re here.”

Yasha can read between the lines. They’re needed here, because this is it. We’re being shut down. It’s now or never.

“And here, we have –”

“ _YASHA!_ ’

Yasha braces herself just in time. She stills rocks a little on her feet as Jester’s body rams into hers, arms flung around Yasha’s torso.

“Jester,” Yasha says, looking down at the smaller woman with a smile. She still looks so young.

“Yasha! I can’t believe you’re back – I mean, I absolutely can believe it, but also I didn’t think you were going to come? It’s been a very long two years. Caleb didn’t think you were going to come, but I told him that you would.”

“It is very nice to see you, Jester,” Yasha says, giving her an awkward squeeze. Jester just beams harder, snuggling into Yasha’s soaked hoodie.

“You’re back.”

It almost hurts worse than seeing  _Necrotic Shroud_ , the way Beau’s voice comes out so flat. Yasha stiffens before she means to, head jerking up and heart in her throat.

She looks the same. Well, the same, but more tired. Thinner. The softness has been filed away. Beau’s cheekbones stand out like knives across her face, hair pulled up in an exhausted mess. She’s half-in and half-out of her black under-armour, the shirt peeled back and tied around her waist. Yasha’s eyes linger a touch too long on her bare arms, the dusty contours of her muscles.

“Beau,” Yasha says, cautious.

“About time,” Beau says, and walks away.

…

…

Yasha can’t sleep.

That in itself isn’t unusual. Yasha has never been very good at beating off the darkness of the night, now more so than ever. The spacious quarters are a painful reminder of just how cramped it would have been with another person present. Yasha’s eyes keep lingering on the bare walls, on the empty bedside table, on the unmade upper bunk.

It’s cruel to put her here. It isn’t the same room as the one she had previously shared with Molly, but it’s close enough to itch.

The third time that Yasha looks over to see that barely ten minutes has passed, she gives up. Rolling out of bed, she shoves her bare feet into her sneakers and pulls on a sweatshirt over her leggings. Phone stuffed into her bra, she slips out of the room and into the silent hallway.

There aren’t many people in this area of the Shatterdome. Caduceus Clay had been kind enough to complete the tour by informing her of their greatly reduced numbers, and – consequently – the gradual spread of living space. Yasha’s area is running on rechargeable batteries. They aren’t connected to the main power grid anymore.

Her breath mists in front of her as she moves deeper downwards. If she closes her eyes, she could trace out her path by route.  _Forward, left, forward, forward –_

The kitchens open up in front of her. At this time of night – well, morning – there aren’t many people around, save for those unlucky enough to have been rostered on for preparing breakfast. There’s a pot of something foul-looking but decent-smelling bubbling away on the stove, but Yasha bypasses it completely for the refrigerator.

As she inches the door open, one of the people cooking turns to glare at her. “Excuse me,” she says, hands planted firmly on his hips. “I’m afraid that you can’t –”

“It’s okay, Adeline,” a familiar voice says. “She’s with me.”

Adelina falters. “Mister Fjord –”

Fjord steps out of the shadows like the creepy overdramatic bastard that he is. Yasha glares at him and then goes back to rummaging around the refrigerator for anything unopened. Fjord can explain, if he wants to stand up for her. Yasha is too tired to deal with anyone today.

Adelina eventually leaves to go and check on something on the other side of the kitchen, though she doesn’t look especially happy about it. Fjord sidles over to where Yasha has gathered some cheese and a few leftover eggs. She’s already mixing them together when he comes to sit next to her.

“Long time no see,” he says.

Yasha ignores him.

“Mind if I had a taste of that when you’re done?” he says. “I was feeling a little bit peckish myself, which is why I came down here.”

“This feels like an ambush,” Yasha says, looking around for a microwave. Fjord handily points it out to her.

“Not an ambush,” Fjord says. “I don’t like eating in the cafeteria either. Getting it straight from here is – safer.”

Yasha grimaces, stabbing at the buttons with more force than it probably warranted.

“How was the Wall?”

“Cold,” Yasha says. “And wet.”

“So no different from here, then.”

“It was a little different,” Yasha says, and then hesitates. “How have things been here?”

“Cold,” Fjord says with a smile. “And wet.”

“Fjord.”

“It varies from day to do,” he says with a shrug. “We’re all working to get things done. Did you see the massive clock in the hanger? They’re counting down the days between each attack.”

“Fourteen,” Yasha says.

“Our brainiacs in the science department don’t think it’ll be much longer,” Fjord says. “Have you met them? Caleb and Nott.”

“Nott?”

“Don’t ask, she doesn’t like talking about it,” Fjord says. “But yes, that’s her name.”

The microwave beeps. Yasha opens it up to look inside, and then scrambles the goopy mixture up with her fork and puts it in for another forty seconds.

“How much longer, then?”

“A week,” Fjord says. “If we’re lucky. Three days if we’re not. That’s why everyone’s on high alert at the moment.”

“I noticed.”

Fjord flashes a bright, tired grin her way. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m not sure if I’m back,” Yasha says. “I don’t have anyone to Drift with.”

“There are a lot of good kids training here,” Fjord says. “Not as many as in our classes, but a decent selection. You’ll find someone.”

“I might not,” Yasha says. Three seconds before the timer runs out, Yasha stops the microwave and tests the eggs. She’s managed to overcook them, so they’re a little rubbery, but edible compared to what she’s used to eating these days. “I might not want to.”

Fjord regards her steadily from where he’s sitting at the table. “If you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t be here.”

Yasha shakes her head and deposits the plastic bowl on the table in front of Fjord, offering him her spoon. “This place is dying,” she says. “The Wall won’t work.”

“The Marshall has a plan,” Fjord says. “We need all the Jaegers we can get. That includes  _Necrotic Shroud_. Beau and Jester and I, we can only do so much.”

“And those other pilots,” Yasha says, stealing the fork back and taking a bite.

“They’re good,” Fjord says. “But we haven’t been on a run with any of them. I know you. I trust you.”

Yasha’s fingers clench around the cool metal of the fork. “You shouldn’t.”

Fjord sighs. “Is this about what happened? Because Jester and I –”

“It’s not only about that,” Yasha says. She isn’t hungry anymore. She hands the fork back to Fjord. “Not fully. Molly had to pilot the  _Shroud_  for almost an hour before anyone came to help. I was useless.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Fjord says.

“It doesn’t matter,” Yasha says. She doesn’t say,  _but it is_ , because that would be counterproductive. “It’s going to affect anything I do in the Drift. My new partner might not even be able to connect.”

“Molly –”

“Molly was a blank slate,” Yasha says. “He was silence in the storm. I’m never going to get anything like that ever again.”

Fjord closes his eyes and takes a bite of overcooked eggs. “I can’t imagine it,” he finally says. “If I lost Jester or Beau.”

“That won’t happen,” Yasha says.

“Big words,” Fjord says. “You gonna back those up?”

No. Yes. Maybe. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow, won’t we?”

…

…

Caduceus Clay says, “I was opposed to reinstating you as a Ranger.”

“That’s fair,” Yasha says. She’s just been given an empty room with no internal heating. The blankets that are folded on the end of the mattress look worn but serviceable.

“I don’t mean to be personal,” Caduceus Clay says. A brief look of discomfort flashes across his serene face, but it’s gone too quickly for Yasha to be sure. “But I advised that you were too unpredictable to be brought back into a combat situation. Considering what happened last time – and how you reacted to it –”

Yasha bares her teeth into a smile. “I understand,” she says. “I wouldn’t have reinstated me either.”

…

…

“One, four.”

Yasha rolls to her feet and offers her opponent a hand up. She’s sweaty, but not sweaty in the right sort of way – this sweat is from the monotonous repetition of tasks, rather than an actual workout. There’s no challenge to this. Block, deflect, attack.

Yasha can feel her moves going stale with every blow she doesn’t bother to dodge. The flashy man in front of her smacks his staff against the ground in what appears to be an intimidation tactic, but Yasha just gives a small sigh.

“Begin!”

The man moves, and Yasha waits for him. What else can she do? There are only so many matches she can follow through with before things start to get old. When the man reaches the limits of her patience, she puts him on the ground. Rinse, repeat.

On the other side of the room, at the door of the Combat Room, Caduceus Clay stands with a clipboard in hand next to Marshall Shakaste, the Duchess an ever-present distraction at his side. After a few more matches, Yasha can’t hold back her frustration and rounds on them.

“Alright, what is it?” she says.

“What is what?” Shakaste says, but it’s Caduceus that she’s looking at.

“You,” Yasha says. “Every time I beat someone, you have this look” – she tries to imitate it, but probably only ends up looking constipated – “like I’m doing something wrong.”

Caduceus blinks slowly. “Well, you are doing something wrong.”

Yasha’s voice is flat. “Really.”

“You took hits you shouldn’t have,” Caduceus says. “It’s obvious that you could have finished the fight quite a bit more easily than you managed. You’re not taking this seriously. Since my sister was the one who spent most of the past year of her life fixing the machine that you’re going to be piloting, I’d prefer if you didn’t screw that up.”

Yasha bares her teeth. “You think you could do better?”

“Probably,” Caduceus says. “It’s not like you’re trying very hard.”

Shakaste lets out a low chuckle and takes the clipboard away from Caduceus. Yasha obligingly steps back onto the mats and sweeps her staff low and inviting.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a few minutes to warm up,” Caduceus says. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to be fighting today.”

“You’re certainly dressed for it,” Yasha says. Caduceus’ clothing is tastefully green and loose, the shade going well with his hair.

Caduceus just smiles. Yasha is really starting to hate that look on his face.

There are too many people in the Combat Room for Yasha to really feel comfortable. She’s better at fighting behind closed doors, where no one can see how ugly it can get. Jester is in the corner, next to Fjord. Yasha can’t see Beau anywhere, but she’s got to be here somewhere. No matter how much has changed over the past few years, there are few things that Beau likes more than a good fight. And regardless of what Caduceus thinks, Yasha is very good at fighting.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Caduceus says after a few stretches. He’s remarkably bendy for someone who looks like he should snap in half at the first stiff breeze. Yasha tightens her grip on her staff.

“Okay,” she says, and attacks.

…

…

The first time Yasha crossed staves with Molly, they were already exhausted from playing second fiddle to thirty or so of their classmates.

Yasha was very good at knocking people down. Molly was very good at making a fool out of people. Neither of these things made them very popular.

“I don’t think I’ve sparred with you before,” Molly says.

Yasha shrugs.

“Well, in any case, it’s been a pleasure,” Molly says, giving her a mocking kind of salute. Yasha responds more automatically than she would have liked, but there were certain courtesies beaten into trainees before they were even allowed to set foot into the Combat Room, and respect was one of them.

Molly’s blows come in short, sharp bursts; he’s never where Yasha expects him to be. If they were going for points, he would be the winner, because he was getting more.

From the way they kept on fighting, though, Yasha knew that this wasn’t going to end until one of them was on the ground.

Half an hour later, most of the class had already packed up and were trying to leave. Yasha weathered the blows without faltering. There were going to be bruises all along her arms and across her shins for weeks to come, but she barely felt the pain. Molly was slowing down rather significantly. Whereas his initial attacks had come in rapid succession, he was being more cautious about them now, more incredulous.

“How the hell are you still standing,” he says.

Yasha shrugs, and then sends him sprawling with a single blow to the ribs.

…

…

Someone told Yasha, once, “You fight angry.”

(A lot of people have told Yasha that).

It’s an easy statement to make. Yasha fights like she’s going to die. Molly laughed at her for it.

Caduceus just waits.

Yasha can’t quite get the timing right. Every time she goes in for a strike, there’s something about Caduceus’ stance that makes her hesitate. She stops an inch from his throat and jumps back, fingers clenching hard around the practice staff.

“I’m not really trained for this sort of thing,” Caduceus says. He hasn’t stopped smiling.

Yasha’s staff dips. “You’re not so bad,” she says. “You just need more practice.”

Caduceus blocks her next strike. There’s an opening, but Yasha doesn’t take it. She backs off and starts circling.

“There’s not much of a chance for that around here,” Caduceus says. He’s not even sweating. Yasha’s drenched, though that could be because of her earlier bouts. It’s a little unnerving facing down someone who doesn’t waste energy on excess movement – Caduceus stands still and waits for her.

Yasha attacks. Caduceus parries but doesn’t go in for a blow to the neck, despite Yasha telegraphing the opening for a good five seconds. She narrows her eyes.

“You’re messing with me,” she decides.

“I told you I’m not very good at this,” Caduceus says. “Now you’re taking me seriously.”

Then he starts fighting back.

…

…

“You,” Yasha says.

Caduceus is on the ground in front of her, arms spread wide with a contented expression settling over his face. His staff is on the opposite side of the room. Yasha’s ribs ache from laughing so hard.

“Me what?”

“You’re my partner. I won’t Drift with anyone else.”

Reading the smug lines of Caduceus’ mouth, Yasha can already tell he had planned this.

…

…

The cafeteria food looks as unappetising as ever.

Yasha takes the offered plate automatically and then looks around for a table to sit at. Jester is very obviously bouncing up and down in the far-right corner, waving her arm enthusiastically in the air, but Yasha takes her time before ambling over there.

As per usual, Fjord is settled alongside Jester. Beau is sitting opposite to them, moodily chewing on something that might resemble lettuce if it wasn’t so – stringy. Her expression darkens when she sees Yasha coming towards them, and she hurriedly begins to scarf down what remains of her food. She’s almost made it by the time Yasha reaches them, which is impressive, considering how disgusting it looks.

“Yasha!” Jester says. She ushers Yasha to sit down next to Beau, who pointedly scoots further down the bench. “It is good to see you. Again.”

She won’t stop smiling. Yasha smiles back.

“How have you been?”

“Fine,” Beau snaps, and then goes back to picking at her food.

Fjord clears his throat. “Ignore Miss Grumpy over there. We’ve been doing as well as can be expected, really. We were just transferred out from over Nicodranis with  _Dragon Slayer_. Have you met Twiggy and Calianna yet?”

“Not yet,” Yasha says. She scrapes some mashed potatoes around disinterestedly across her plate. “Are they nice?”

“They’re  _so cool_ ,” Jester says, waving her fork around in the air. “Twiggy is always giving me her chocolate, which is  _awesome_ , and Calianna writes the best poetry –”

Fjord smiles. “I think you’ll like them.”

Yasha pushes her tray away from her. “And the other team?”

Beau bares her teeth in a smile. “Reliable.”

“Ouch,” Yasha says.

“Beau,” Jester says in a tone of profound disappointment. “We  _talked_  about this.”

“No,  _you_  talked about this,” Beau says, crossing her arms across her chest. She looks tired. They all look tired. “You’ve been gone for a long time, Yasha. We didn’t think you were going to come back.”

“Beau…”

Beau shakes her head and gets to her feet. Yasha tilts her head to one side and considers following her, but a quick glance at Fjord tells her that probably isn’t the best idea. She watches Beau leave through the door towards the hanger bay.

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jester says. Her fork is back alongside her still-untouched plate of food, and she’s twisting her fingers into anxious knots. “She was so sad when you left. She thought you were going to come back – a long time ago. Before this.”

Yasha sighs. “I couldn’t.”

“I know,” Jester nods. “If something happened to Fjord or Beau – I don’t know what I would do. Molly –”

“I don’t think this is the place for that kind of talk,” Fjord says. “We’re very. Out in the open, if you know what I mean.”

Yasha glances up. Caduceus is walking over, gait unhurried, a heaped tray of food in his hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He’ll know everything soon enough.”

“ _Soon_  doesn’t have to be  _now_ ,” Fjord says firmly.

Yasha shrugs. Caduceus sits in the empty seat next to her, beaming across the table. Jester smiles back with the same kind of open reassurance, though Fjord seems largely immune.

“Heard you’re going to be a Jaeger pilot,” he says.

“That’s the rumour,” Caduceus says, shovelling something that didn’t  _look_  especially edible into his mouth. Yasha looks over her plate, and then dumps it onto Caduceus’ tray. He gives her a nod of thanks and keeps eating.

“And how’s your sister taking that?”

“She wouldn’t stop laughing for twenty minutes straight,” Caduceus says. “Says I deserved everything that happens to me.”

“That certainly sounds like Clarabelle,” Fjord says.

Yasha glances between them. “When am I going to meet your sister?”

“You’ll see her eventually,” Caduceus says. “She’s around here somewhere.”

There’s a low buzzing sound. Fjord glances down, and then takes his phone out of his pocket. He reads the message, closes his eyes, and then glares at both Yasha and Caduceus.

“That was Beau,” he says. “Shakaste wants you two in the hanger ten minutes ago for a trial Drift.”

…

…

Yasha has so many scars from her uniform – there are clamps and drills and hooks that dig into her skin and down to her bone. The biggest scar she has is along her spinal column, where the suit connects directly into her nervous system.

It had required surgery. Molly had been there when she closed her eyes, holding tight onto her hand in a way that was both reassuring and terrifying. Yasha remembers breathing in and out, in and out, and waiting for everything to go dark.

Her skin aches as she puts back on the suit. Her shoulders pinch along the scars, the metal digging into her throat and along her collarbones. Yasha breathes in and out, in and out, and doesn’t jolt when they connect her spine.

Walking into the cockpit of  _Necrotic Shroud_  is a nightmare of reality. There are exposed bundles of wiring that have been taped down, cracked glass screens that are  _just good enough_  to justify their continued presence. No longer does a sleek, minimalistic aesthetic dominate the area – that has all been thrown out in favour of cheap practicality. Here’s how to save the world, a dollar at a time.

Yasha hooks herself into the harness. The tech’s try to help, but she’s done this hundreds of times before, and she’s done before they can really make much of a difference.

Molly is next to her, grinning.

No.

Caduceus is next to her, looking almost ridiculous in his dive suit. Yasha blinks away the memory of Molly’s sharp grin and tries to smile back.

Shakaste’s voice echoes through the cockpit: “Prepare for neural handshake.”

Yasha’s smile turns bloodless.

“My head isn’t a very nice place to be,” she says. “I’m either very unlucky, or cursed. And I don’t believe in luck.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Caduceus says.

_Four._

Yasha closes her eyes. Molly is there, just out of reach.

_Three._

“Don’t latch onto anything,” she says. “The Drift is silent.”

_Two._

“See you on the other side.”

 _One_.

…

…

“Hey, sleepy,” Zuala says.

Yasha shakes her head and presses further back into the pillow. It’s still dark out, but she can see the faint light coming in through the window from the streetlamp outside. She’s been meaning to install curtains above it, but it never really seems to come up.

“G’way,” Yasha says, burrowing down.

Zuala laughs. Zuala has the most wonderful laugh in the world.

“Hey, sleepy,” she says. “Get –”

“ – up. Yasha, get  _up_.”

There’s an alarm. Yasha’s eyes snap open and she scrambles around for some kind of purchase. Everything hurts. The buildings around them are in ruins, blown apart to dust and rubble, and a storm is whipping wind and hail and dust around them.

Yasha is on her knees. Zuala is in front of her, and she’s on the ground, and she’s not getting up. Her hands scrabble weakly at Yasha’s. In the distance, as a kind of horrific background noise, a siren wails in futile warning. There’s a monster out there in the mist, somewhere, but Yasha can’t think.

“You need to go,” Zuala says. She’s shaking Yasha frantically. Yasha clambers slowly to her knees and shakes her head like a wounded dog, trying to think. The rain isn’t letting up. “ _Yasha_ , get up, you need to –”

“ – go, go, go!” Molly laughs, pushing Yasha forward. “C’mon, wake up, we’ve got a monster to kill!”

Yasha shakes her head and stifles a yawn. Even the minor pain of getting into the dive suit doesn’t wake her up as it usually would. She cracks her neck and gets into the harness, tightening the straps automatically.

“Initiating neural handshake.”

“You ready for this?”

Yasha dredges up a smile from somewhere. “Always.”

 _Four_.

“– wake up – wake  _up_  –”

 _Three_.

“ – wrong – Jester and Fjord –”

 _Two_.

“– Lorenzo –”

 _One_.

...

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next part should be up next week!!
> 
> sorry for the radio silence, hope this makes up for it <3
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://mnemememory.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so - I'm a liiiitle late, but I can explain! my computer was f u c k e d and also so was my motivation RIP. hopefully this isn't too much of a disappointment? (i'll edit when i'm less tired).

**...**

**...**

**better to scream**

...

...

Yasha doesn’t hear about it until later. Much later.

She wakes up in the infirmary with Jester’s anxious hands fluttering between Yasha’s collarbone and her temple. She looks far worse for wear than the last time Yasha had seen her, with bruises running down the side of her face and along her throat. She’s hidden as much of it as she can with long sleeves and blue-tinged concealer, but it doesn’t really help.

“Yasha,” Jester says, when Yasha opens her eyes. “You’re awake!”

Everything hurts.

“How – how much do you remember?”

Everything _hurts_.

This is what Yasha remembers: Beau panicking on the coms. “There’s something wrong with Jester and Fjord!” she’s saying, but it’s far away and fuzzy. Yasha blinks. Molly is next to her, out of his harness and shaking her arm, but he can’t be real. Yasha is dreaming.

“Yasha is –” he’s saying, and then. Nothing.

Yasha’s tongue feels thick and dry in her mouth. She tries to swallow down her spit, but her throat screams in protest and starts coughing instead.

“Oh, Yasha! Here is some water – I should go and get a nurse –”

Yasha accepts the straw with exhausted gratefulness. She tries to sit up, but her ribs buckle at the sudden movement and she falls back to the bed with a silent scream. The water sloshes out of the cup and across her shirt, and she somehow manages to stab herself with the straw.

Yasha tries to speak, but she has to clear her throat a few times to get the words out. Despite looking around nervously for a medical professional, Jester doesn’t seem too inclined to actually leave the room, but Yasha anchors her to the bed with a hand to her wrist anyway.

“Molly,” she spits out, and starts coughing again.

Jester blanches grey.

“Where,” Yasha says.

Jester rips her hand away. There are red welts against her skin from where Yasha has pressed her nails in a little too deeply. They’re going to bruise. Yasha feels sick.

“I need to get Beau,” Jester says, rushing unsteadily to her feet and tripping drunkenly to the door. From the look of it, she isn’t in much state to walk, let along run anywhere.

Yasha rolls onto her side, heedless of the pain, and vomits noisily onto the floor.

…

…

“I changed my mind,” Yasha says, walking as briskly as the ghost-ache in her ribs will let her. “I’m not doing this.”

Caduceus follows her at a more sedate pace, looking not the least bit perturbed at the thought of her going. This only fuels Yasha’s greater desire to just up and _leave_. That’s the only thing she’s proven consistently good at, so why mess with a thing that works? Yasha is going to leave, and the world is going to burn, and it won’t matter anymore because even without getting back into _Necrotic Shroud_ Yasha is as good as dead anyway.

“You chased the RABIT,” Caduceus says. “But it won’t happen again. You’re trained against it.”

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place!” Yasha says. She doesn’t really know where she’s going, only that she needs to get as far away from Caduceus Clay as she possibly can. She feels gross. There’s a layer of grime under her skin that she can’t scrub away no matter how hard she tries. Everything about Yasha is rotten.

“I don’t think –”

“No, _I_ obviously haven’t been thinking,” Yasha says. “This is a terrible idea. I’m not _nearly_ emotionally stable enough for this shit –”

Someone clears their throat from behind her.

Yasha turns around, teeth bared, growl building low in her throat. “ _What_?”

The person she confronts barely reaches up to her waist, with dyed-green hair bright enough to match with Jester and chipped, uneven teeth. She gives a small squeak and jumps back when Yasha turns to look at her, behind a taller man with a scraggly beard and bloodshot eyes. There is a tattoo of a Bengal cat done prominently across his throat.

“Good afternoon,” he says through heavy Zemnian accent. The small woman bares her teeth.

Yasha jerks back, caught between here-and-now and there-and-then. She forces her breathing to even out.

“You knew Molly.”

The man blinks, slowly. “Caleb Widogast,” he says, giving a small bow. “Science and Research Division. This is my co-worker, Veth.”

“Nott,” the woman corrects. At Yasha’s blank look, Nott-not-Veth rolls her eyes. “Only Caleb calls me Veth. My name is Nott.”

“Okay,” Yasha says. Her eyes keep flickering back to Caleb. There is something horribly familiar about his face.

He takes pity on her. “Mollymauk and I were roommates, the first year in the Academy,” he says. “I…dropped out to pursue knowledge, but he continued on to be a pilot.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Yasha says. She can’t quite see straight. Her voice sounds distant, muted.

“I know enough,” Caleb says, and doesn’t clarify.

Nott clears her throat. “If you’ll excuse us, we have to go and give the Marshall our reports –”

“Of course.” Caleb shakes his head. He gives Yasha a polite smile, and then turns to Caduceus to give him a broader one. “I’m sure you two will work out your differences.”

_I wouldn’t bet on it_ , Yasha doesn’t say. She’s very good at holding her tongue.

Caleb re-straightens his armful of papers. “If you ever feel like talking about him –”

He leaves the sentence open-ended. Yasha’s stomach squirms uncomfortably.

Nott does her a favour and whacks Caleb in the arm. “We’re understaffed and out of budget,” she says. “If you want to come down to _help_ , feel free, but if it’s just to lie around drinking you’re going to have to find another person. Caleb here is too important to take too much time off work –”

“Yes, thank you, Nott,” Caleb says, hurrying them both past. There’s an embarrassed tinge of red to his cheeks that has Yasha, despite herself, suppressing a smile.

Caduceus is nice enough to be silent on their walk back to her room. It’s when he doesn’t leave that Yasha starts feeling the first real prickles of panic start to set in.

“Go away,” she says. “I think we’ve established that this isn’t going to work.”

Caduceus takes two deliberate steps out into the hallway and then sits down on the ground, leaning his back against the wall. Yasha stares at him in disbelief. It’s cold enough that her joints are aching, the lack of electricity and functional air-conditioning only further hampered by the fact that the whole building is made out of cold metal.

“You can’t be serious,” she says.

Caduceus shrugs and takes a small thermos out of one of his absurdly large pockets. He takes a small sip and sighs appreciatively.

“Would you like some tea?” he says.

Yasha slams the door closed.

…

…

Jester is alone, which is why Yasha goes to her.

She’s sitting curled tight in a corner, as out of the way as possible while still technically being in the main building. She’s shaking. Her fingers are clenched hard into her forearms, nails digging deep enough to leave bruises. Yasha doesn’t know where Fjord or Beau are, but she hasn’t seen them since yesterday. She doesn’t even know where they sleep. She used to know, once upon a time.

“Hey,” she says, leaning heavily against the wall and dropping to the ground next to her. Jester gives a hiccupping laugh and leans into her shoulder.

“Please don’t ask me why I’m upset,” she says.

“Okay,” Yasha says.

Jester manages a smile. Then she presses her face against Yasha’s jacket and starts to cry.

…

…

The alarm, when it sounds, is loud and familiar.

Yasha is up out of her bed and reaching for a uniform that doesn’t exist before she even processes it. She stumbles, cursing, out into the hallway and almost trips on Caduceus.

“What’s going on?” she says.

Caduceus just grabs onto her wrist and starts running.

The control room is a study in chaos. Yasha and Caduceus are collectively too large to dodge the people swarming around like rats in a sewer, so they carve out a path straight to where Shakaste and a tall, thinly androgynous figure is sitting in front of three screens. Every reflective surface is blaring red-and-white, doing nothing to dampen the impending panic.

“Bryce,” Yasha says, when she gets close enough.

Bryce looks up with a brief, strained smile. “Yasha. It would be good to see you, under different circumstances.”

Shakaste is talking to the gathered crowd. “Two signatures,” he says, and Yasha’s world goes white.

She barely hears the rest of the briefing. “Both Category 4’s. Codenames: Serissa and Catagan. They’ll reach the coast within the hour.”

Yasha looks out the window, into the hanger bay. _Necrotic Shroud_ sits like a dead thing to the side, limbs limp and useless.

“We need to evacuate the cities. Shut down the bridges. We’ve sent out a general alert, so every civilian should be making their way into refuges right now.”

Beau is in the room. Yasha looks up and sees her, flanked by Jester and Fjord. They look grim and grey, all in uniform. Yasha’s cotton shirt and leggings suddenly feel far too light.

“ _Dragon Slayer_ ,” Shakaste says. “ _Converging Fury_. You two need to frontline this. _Mighty Nein_ , stay back to the coastline and don’t engage until there is no other option.” He flashes a bright, savage smile. “We can’t afford to lose you right now.”

Four strangers salute from the crowd. Yasha barely has time to tattoo their faces into her memory before they’re gone, just as swiftly as they had first appeared. _These are the pilots_ , she thinks. She’s seen them on television, working on the Wall – there hadn’t been much entertainment out there save for drinking and listening to bad radio, so television was treated as a luxury commodity. Her co-workers had enjoyed shouting rude things at the screen whenever a Jaeger pilot came into view.

They look so much smaller in person.

Shakaste turns to face Yasha and Caduceus. “You two will stay put.”

Yasha’s jaw clenches, but Caduceus nods for her.

One of the new pilots hesitates – Keg, her brain produces, and she doesn’t know whether it’s her own knowledge or Caduceus’s – eyes narrowed into stubborn slits. She looks like she wants to say something to Yasha, but her partner – Nila, taller than Caduceus but somehow _less_ intimidating – nudges her away.

Someone grabs onto Yasha’s forearm and drags her down the hall. It takes her a few seconds to realise that it’s Beau, and then she starts internally panicking.

“If we don’t make it back,” Beau says.

Yasha glares at her.

“ _If we don’t make it back_ ,” Beau barrels through. “Then I’m – I’m sorry for being such a…” her teeth grit.

Yasha pats her on the shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“ _God_ you’re the _worst_ ,” Beau says. “I’m trying to _apologise_.”

“Are you still taking lessons from Fjord?” Yasha says. “Because it shows.”

Beau turns on her heel and starts to stalk away. Yasha races after her and pulls her back by the wrist.

“What…?”

Yasha kisses her on the cheek. It’s fast and it’s soft and means a lot less than Yasha wants it to say, but there isn’t really much time and the alarm is still blaring around them.

“You’re going to make it back,” she says.

Beau blinks for a second, like she’s been stunned, and then shakes her head and rushes off. Yasha watches her go and tries not to think about how the last time they had kissed, Molly had died.

…

…

Caduceus finds her in her room, praying.

She hasn’t done this since she got to the Shatterdome, and the guilt of it slicks hot through her gut. There’s a part of Yasha that wonders if this is punishment – she knows the stories, knows the tests of devotion that plague the world before the world like poison. It’s so hard not to take the world ending personally. She’s got her holy symbol in her hand and her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Caduceus says, sitting on the floor in her doorframe.

“He saved me,” Yasha says. Her voice is a small, strained thing. Her fingers are cramping around the metal, skin white on contact. “I’d be – dead, without Him.”

“I understand,” Caduceus says calmly. He unhooks something from inside his shirt and pulls it out to show her a small stone with a swirl carved into it. If Yasha squints, she can see the outline of a crashing wave.

Yasha can’t manage a smile. She just bows her head over her effigy of the Stormlord and whispers impossible things under her breath.

Caduceus doesn’t say anything else, just sits there and lets Yasha breathe.

…

…

_Dragon Slayer_ dies the way all giants do.

Loudly.

…

…

“Do you know how he died?” Yasha says.

Her spine plate _clicks_ into place, the sharp bite of needles piercing down her back causing her to momentarily cut off and hiss.

Caduceus stands next to her, seemingly unaffected, as technicians swarm through their last-minute check-ups.

“I’ve heard the stories,” he says, eyes straight forward.

Yasha smiles as two people fit her chest-plate over her collarbones. “His name was Lorenzo,” she says. “And he thought he was a monster.”

“I’ve heard that story, too,” Caduceus says.

“He got past all the background checks that this place needed back in my time,” Yasha says. “And he smiled every time someone came back for seconds. He was a very good cook.”

She can still see him standing in the cafeteria. She’s seen him smiling every time she closes her eyes.

They give her the helmet. Yasha checks the inside and then starts walking forward into _Necrotic Shroud’s_ head. Caduceus follows her. An outsider wouldn’t have noticed the way his feet hesitate at the entrance, the way his fingers linger on the harness. Yasha can feel it like an ache in her bones.

“How much of it did you see?”

“Enough,” Caduceus says.

Yasha lets herself have one short burst of laughter. It isn’t much, but it makes her feel better, somehow. “The morning of Shepherd, he drugged the food. Molly and Beau were sleeping in, but Jester and Fjord and I…”

Yasha’s throat closes over as she straps herself into the harness, fingers numb. This time, no one tries to help her.

“I passed out in the cockpit in the middle of the fight,” Yasha says, voice thick and eyes unblinking. “Beau was piloting a three-person Jaeger by herself. She managed to kill it, but not in time for –”

“Prepare for neural handshake,” Shakaste’s cool voice comes over the comms.

“That won’t happen this time,” Caduceus says. “I’ve seen the photos. I’m a lot larger than Mollymauk. I think either of those monsters would have a lot harder of a time swallowing me than him. He was very skinny.”

Yasha turns and gapes at him.

“Four, three, two –”

“ _What_?”

“One.”

The Drift is silence.

Yasha feels Caduceus’ presence like a warm pulse, green and growing. She barely has time to hold her breath before she’s dragged under and drowning.

Someone asked Yasha, once, what Drifting felt like. It was probably in an early interview – before questions like that had been blacklisted. Yasha hadn’t managed to find the right words.

Here’s the best that fits:

A white room spattered in blood.

“I find that I don’t quite agree with you, Miss Yasha,” Caduceus says, and the world unfurls into something bigger and brighter than Yasha could have ever dreamed of.

Yasha comes back to her body with a gasp, jerking forward. _Necrotic Shroud_ groans under her.

“Neural handshake holding steady,” Bryce says.

“Are you ready?” Caduceus says, sounding totally unperturbed. She can feel him shaking in her bones.

_We’re about to get dropped into an active warzone,_ Yasha thinks. _I haven’t piloted in years. You’ve never piloted at all. This is the first double event_ ever _, and the only reason we’re being allowed to do this is because of our nuclear core._

The thought of Beau and Jester and Fjord trapped in the lifeless corpse of their Jaeger as the monsters swarm around makes something cold lurch in Yasha’s stomach.

“Sure,” she says, and apparently that’s good enough, because they’re dropping down.

…

…

Someone told Yasha once, “You fight angry.”

(A lot of people have told her that).

The monster looms out of the water, and Yasha laughs.

…

…

“It’s not over,” Caleb says, because of course it isn’t. Something like this will never be over.

Yasha is exhausted all the way down to her bones. She leans against the wall and closes her eyes, listening with only half an ear. Caduceus is little better. Drift-hangover is never fun, especially after your first ride. Usually it’s something that should be mediated out over a long period of time with copious amounts of mineral-water, and that’s just for simulations. The real thing is a thousand times more intense.

They don’t have the luxury of waiting around, though. Yasha can feel Caduceus in her head, twisting and churning. There are thoughts that don’t make much sense, prayers to the wrong god rattling around her skull.

“I predicted this double event,” Caleb says. “But this definitely isn’t he end. It’s just going to get worse from here on out.”

Behind the couch, huddled between Beau and Fjord, Jester gives a ragged cheer. They all look exhausted, wound as tight around each other as their shaking limbs would allow. Jester has a bruise along her cheek, and Beau’s left eye is patched over. Yasha had managed to get a peek at it in the infirmary: it was bright red, all the blood vessels burst.

“You’re such a ray of sunshine,” Beau says. “Every time you enter the room, the place brightens.”

Fjord sighs. His lip is split rather dramatically, but other than that he looks fairly stable – especially compared to the train wreck that his partners are presenting. “Go on, Caleb.”

Caleb gives a melodramatic flare of his hands, and holograms burst to life across the table. Jester oohs and aahs appreciatively. Despite herself, Yasha opens one eye to look.

“Here, we have the Breach,” Caleb says, pointing to the narrow point on his diagram. “Here we have the trench, and here is wherever the hell these things come from.”

“Probably a dimension incredibly dissimilar to our own,” Nott-not-Veth says. “Their physiology isn’t like anything on this planet, and I’ve been cross-testing whatever samples I can get my hands on over all the databases I have access to. Nothing.”

“Now, we’ve been getting these creatures coming in at increasingly smaller intervals. First it was every few months, which shortened to every few weeks – now, it’s every few days. The time between gets cut in half. In two days, we’re going to have another event.”

Yasha closes her eye. Around her, whispers break out.

“Our original plan was to send _Mighty Nein_ with the thermonuclear warhead so we could drop it into the Breach,” Caleb says. “But that isn’t going to work anymore thanks to that last attack.”

“They’re learning,” Jester says, shivering. Beau hugs her tighter.

Caleb sighs. “It’s not just that they’re learning – they’re learning _faster than we are_. There are only so many adjustments we can make before we have to start building from the bones out again. That takes money that we don’t have.”

Yasha can imagine Molly sitting next to her and toasting his beer high: “Thanks for fucking us all, world government!” Next to her, Caduceus has to disguise his laugh as a cough.

Caleb’s face is fish-belly white as he stares around at them, dirt smudging along his cheeks like bruises. Yasha so badly wants to just go to sleep and never wake up. She’s so tired of this.

“We can’t switch out the power sources,” he says. “That would require entirely new Jaegers. At the moment, the only one who can reliably get to the Breach is _Necrotic Shroud_. Everything else will get taken out by that electromagnetic pulse.”

“If they can disable the Jaegers that far underwater, we’re sitting ducks,” Beau agrees. “It won’t matter that we’ve got the warhead if we can’t get it there.”

“Look at it this way,” Nott-not-Veth says. “If one of them pokes you too hard, you can just detonate yourselves and half the ocean with you.”

Yasha can feel eyes turning their way.

“You can’t be serious,” she says.

Shakaste flashes them a smooth grin. “You’re the best shot we have ate getting it there intact.”

“We’re down two Jaegers and the third is pretty badly damaged,” Yasha says. “And haven’t we tried bombing the Breach before? It didn’t exactly work out well the first time.”

“We’re running out of options,” Shakaste says.

“So we’re trying something that didn’t work before again because – what? Second time’s the charm?”

Caleb clears his throat. “The increased traffic should – if my predictions are correct –”

“Which they are,” Nott-not-Veth helpfully puts in.

Caleb ducks his head a little. “The increased traffic should force the Breach to stabilise and remain open long enough to get the warhead through far enough to collapse it’s structure. They’ve been coming through fairly regularly. The first time we tried – it was only months after the second attack, back when we didn’t know much about things. We were still learning.”

“That _hasn’t changed_ ,” Yasha says.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says, eyes icy. “I didn’t realise that _you_ were the one with a Masters in biochemistry –”

“Nothing’s ever even managed to get through it, though,” Fjord says, putting out his arms placatingly. Yasha leans back into the couch with a scowl, not entirely willing to let things go, but also not wanting to start a fight she doesn’t know she can win. Not now. Not when her head feels like she’s been used

Nott-not-Veth grins. “Actually, that’s where I come in.”

…

…

“This isn’t going to work,” Yasha says, staring at the blue, jelly-like substance that is being rubbed across every square inch of _Necrotic Shroud_ ’s metal body. Across the hanger bay, _Mighty Nein_ and _Converging Fury_ are being given the same treatment by some techs fitted out in hazmat suits.

The whole area had been evacuated on the grounds that interacting with biohazardous material would probably kill _somebody_. Yasha doesn’t quite know how to feel about this whole thing.

“It should certainly be interesting, though,” Caduceus says.

Yasha gives an unattractive snort. “That’s one word for it.”

“How did they even get this stuff?” Yasha says. “Aren’t we supposed to be – broke?”

“Oh, that’s a whole story,” Caduceus says. “It happened just a little bit after you left, I think – so apparently, Jester has a mob boss for a father –”

“ _Jester has a what_?”

Nott-not-Veth is down on the ground, hazmat suit noticeably smaller than everyone else’s, bossing people around. As Yasha looks, she gives one of the technicians a whack on the back of the calf and grabs the hose from them, yelling profanities.

“I don’t want to know what that’s about,” Yasha says, when she’s recovered from the sudden shock of Jester – small, sweet, strong Jester – being related to one of the biggest crime bosses in the Dwendalian Empire. Yasha’s heart isn’t good enough for this.

“Nott isn’t so bad, once you get used to her,” Caduceus says. “And she’s a genius as well.”

“I don’t usually do well with geniuses,” Yasha says. People had called Molly a genius. Yasha had been good – had been better than good, sometimes – but it was always within the expected parameters of her personality. Yasha is big and can hit things. When Yasha is in _Necrotic Shroud_ , she is bigger, and can hit bigger things.  Molly had been the one to aim for the throat.

Caduceus hmms next to her but doesn’t speak up. They’re standing side-by-side over the hanger bay, feet dangling off the edge. Yasha can smell the potent mix of chemicals even from up here. She tries not to think about how proud Nott-not-Veth had been when she had announced the plan, but it’s a lost cause.

“My husband is a chemist,” she had said, chest puffed out. “He usually just stays at home and takes care of our son, especially since we moved out here for my job, but I asked him to come in and help with this. Edith is taking care of Luc at the moment, and –”

Yasha keeps nodding and smiling. She doesn’t understand half of the words that have started coming out of Nott’s mouth, and she’s frankly too scared to ask for some more clarification. Caduceus nods in time with Nott’s tone of voice and keeps smiling, long after Yasha can keep up the pretence of being interested in the process of deconstructing and mass-manufacturing monster DNA.

“Do you want to see photos?”

Yasha blanches, thinking of her brief (if singularly traumatising) foray into the deep, dark vestiges of the Shatterdome R&D department. She still hasn’t managed to scrub the image of monster parts, hacked to pieces, lying strewn out across the ground in some kind of disturbing parody of a children’s abstract painting. Nott had been in the middle of it all, elbow-length gloves covered in metallic blue muck and humming cheerfully to herself. Even Caleb was giving her a wide birth, which was saying something.

“We’d love to,” Caduceus says, showing – once again – that he had the self-preservation instincts of a blind lemming. Yasha starts to elbow him in the stomach, but she’s cut off as Nott shoves her phone underneath Yasha’s nose. Visible even underneath the layer of congealing blue slime is a small boy smiling happily at the camera, held tight by his short father.

“Oh,” Yasha says, softly. “He’s lovely.”

Nott’s smile is a thousand degrees hot and a world wide. “ _Isn’t he_?”

…

…

“I need to talk with you.”

Yasha feels _ambushed_.

She had thought – well, she had _hoped_ that there would be some lead up to this conversation. Some kind of warning. Instead, Beau is leaning with her hip against Yasha’s door, blocking the only entrance into her room. Caduceus is nowhere to be seen, the coward. Considering how he’s been camping out in that exact same spot for the past few days, he’s either been bribed or blackmailed to move. Traitor.

Beau doesn’t look good. None of them do, really, but there’s something extra than exhaustion hiding underneath her dark skin. She manages a grin when Yasha glares at her, opening the door and sweeping her arm out in invitation.

Yasha thinks about it.

“Okay,” she says, shoulders slumping in defeat. She walks inside.

She hasn’t had time to make the room as nice as things had once been – it’s too small and too empty at the same time. Molly exists in every corner.

Beau surveys the room with an arched eyebrow, and then leans back against the bed with a wry grin.

“Hey.”

Yasha crosses her arms across her chest and doesn’t say anything.

“So, I’ve been avoiding you,” Beau says.

Yasha gives her a Look.

“Yeah, I know,” Beau says. “But things have been pretty crazy lately, you’ve got to admit. There’s all these events, and very big monsters, and hey you’ve got a new Drift partner –”

“I’m not sorry for leaving,” Yasha interrupts.

Beau’s lips thin, and she cuts off with a sharp sigh.

“I had to go,” Yasha says. She feels desperate in a way she can’t fully express. She’s got three layers of skin between the air and her muscles, the shapes all stretched out to an awkward fit. Molly’s grin aches in the lines of her jaw. She can taste Caduceus’ favourite blend of tea in the back of her throat. Yasha doesn’t exist anymore except as a vessel for ghosts. “Beau, I _had_ to go. I was dying.”

“You think we weren’t?” Beau says. Her fists are clenched at her sides, knuckles wrapped. The skin around the wrappings is scraped and bruised – she had obviously been working out her aggression before coming here.

Yasha leans back against the wall, abruptly drained. She doesn’t want a fight. For once in her life, Yasha doesn’t want to fight.

“I’m not sorry I left,” she says. “But I’m sorry that I left _you_.”

Beau’s head jerks to the side, cheeks flaring up. Her fists clench down harder, until there are going to be half-moon bruises on her palms later from her fingernails. Yasha has the absurd urge to reach out and curl her fingers between Beau’s, to kiss her knuckles. Without even meaning to, Yasha’s hand begins to reach out.

“Do you know what’s been going on?” Beau says. Her voice sounds clogged, raw. Yasha’s hand freezes. “Do you know what’s been _happening_ these past few years? There are so many dead bodies out there. Every time we go out to fight, we’re walking over corpses.”

“The world is made of bones,” Yasha says.

Beau’s laugh is bitter. She throws her whole head into it, smile sharp enough to cut. “I can’t let them down,” she says. Yasha can tell from the tone of her voice that she is talking about Jester and Fjord. “I can’t let them die. I can live with anything else, but I can’t live without them.”

Yasha reaches out to take Beau’s knotted hand. It feels fevered in her cooler fingers, wounded. She gently flattens out her palms and leans forward to kiss her right index finger.

Beau watches her in a daze. The covering for her eye is still there, but the sticky-tape that’s been holding it to her skin is breaking away to reveal the horror underneath. Her eyelid is swelling into a blackened lump, the eye itself underneath red.

“When Molly died,” Yasha says. “The world kept spinning.”

“But you didn’t.”

Yasha smiles. Molly smiles with her.

“I wonder, sometimes,” she says. “If he even existed. I have – holes, in my memory. A lot of holes. Have I – have I ever told you that? I wake up, and I can’t remember my name. I have to think really hard about it. But I can always remember his.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him,” Beau says, and starts crying.

…

…

“Did you have a good talk?”

Yasha glares at Caduceus as they leisurely walk towards the kitchen. Caduceus has his ever-present flask of tea in hand. Every time she tries some of it, it’s a different blend. Tea is almost impossible to get around here, even if it’s home-grown. Even drifting, Caduceus hadn’t been willing to share _that_ little secret.

“It was for your own good,” Caduceus says, smile serene. He doesn’t appear to be noticing the dark clouds that are beginning to swarm over Yasha’s face, but the other people in the surrounding area certainly are. They begin to back away. Caduceus breezes on: “Things were complicated between you. Hopefully, they’re now less complicated.”

“They’re still complicated,” Yasha says, arms folded across her chest.

“Yes,” Caduceus says. “But having sex is a different kind of complicated to _wanting_ to have sex.”

Yasha turns and walks away.

…

…

“Here’s what we need to do,” Caleb says.

The image is a little ridiculous. Caleb is standing in front of an old-fashioned blackboard, a piece of chalk in one hand and a laser-pointer in the other. Yasha keeps getting distracted by the bright light, which probably isn’t exactly the point of this exercise. She wishes that Caduceus would stop snickering at her from behind his tea.

There is a crudely drawn diagram on the blackboard. It looks nothing like Caleb’s usual shorthand scrawl – rather, suspiciously like it was done by a small child…

Nott notices Yasha’s look and puts a finger to her lips. “Children aren’t allowed in the Shatterdome,” she mouths.

“Here,” Caleb says, pointing. “Is the entry point.”

“Are you sure?” Fjord says.

Caleb gives him a bland look. “I’m sure,” he says. “And here” – this time, he uses the laser-pointed to wriggle around the top-left side – “is where _Necrotic Shroud_ is going to push forward. You’re all going at different angles to hopefully catch the double event before they can disrupt our plans too much.”

“So we won’t have backup?” Keg says. Nila is sitting next to her, serene and calm. Yasha wishes that she didn’t know that Nila has a husband and child. She wishes that Caduceus hadn’t ever told her.

“No,” Caleb says.

“This plan definitely won’t fail,” Keg says.

“We only have until tomorrow to prepare,” Caleb says, ignoring her. “But we’ve already fitted all of your Jaegers with trace amounts of alien DNA – according to Veth’s predictions, they have a kind of lock on what can and cannot enter. Since you’ve all been coated –”

“You’ll all be able to go through!” Nott says, beaming. “Have fun falling into another world. I’m going to be safe and sound here, drinking my worries away.”

“If we fail, you’re not going to be very safe,” Fjord points out.

“If you fail, I’ll drink myself into a coma and not have to worry about it,” Nott says.

Shakaste clears his throat, hiding a smile behind his hand. “If you wouldn’t mind continuing?”

“ _Mighty Nein_ is going to enter the water first and get to the far side – then _Converging Fury_ will go to the right, and _Necrotic Shroud_ to the left. _Necrotic Shroud_ is the one that absolutely must get through. They’re holding the payload.”

“And let me just say, I’m thrilled to be working so closely with nuclear explosives,” Caduceus says. “This definitely isn’t going to pollute the water around the rift for hundreds of years to come.”

Nott rolls her eyes. “The water around it is already polluted,” she says. “What, you think the monster aliens are going to care about taking care of the planet?”

Caduceus shrugs. Yasha leans over to give his shoulder a conciliatory pat.

“We have predicted the next event to happen sometime early tomorrow, so you’re going to be deployed at around 3AM in order to get to the Breach in time. I suggest” – Caleb… _hesitates_. Yasha closes her eyes and leans her head against the back of the couch. Caleb clears his throat and continues. “I suggest you get your affairs in order.”

Beau snorts. “The only family I care about is sitting right here.”

Jester runs an anxious hand across her scalp. “I need to call my Mama.”

Yasha feels like she’s been sucker-punched in the gut.

There had been a time – long ago. So long ago. A lifetime and a world away, when Yasha had smiled and the sea hadn’t been full of blue slime: Zuala had wanted children, and Yasha had wanted Zuala to be happy more than anything.

She wonders what it would have been like if things had been different. If she and Zuala – if they had –

“C’mon, let’s head off,” Fjord says, gently taking Jester by the shoulders and leading her away. Beau slumps against the couch, exhaustion written into the slump of her spine. “We can call her together, okay? She loves hearing from you.”

The rest of the group watches them go in silence. Then Nila breaks away and hurries off, face tight and ashen. Keg watches her go and lets out a loud sigh.

“This is fucked,” she says. No one says: this is a suicide run, but no one needs to. It’s written clear as day in the childish chalk-lines of Nott’s son. Yasha doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. She doesn’t think it makes things anything, really.

“We knew what we were getting into,” Beau snaps.

“Maybe you did,” Keg says. “I sure as fuck didn’t.”

“Now, now – no need to –” Shakaste starts to say.

“Calianna and Twiggy are _dead_ ,” Keg says. “And we’re about to be next.”

“We signed up for this,” Beau says, folding her arms across her chest and clenching down hard on her jaw.

Keg laughs. Yasha flinches away from the bitter sound, fingers balling to fists on her lap.

“Of course _you_ would say that,” Keg says.

Beau’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? You’d much rather go down in a blaze of glory than –”

Beau explodes off from the couch and grabs at Keg’s throat. Keg doesn’t flinch, the wide – slightly manic – grin stretched too-large across her small face.

“Shut it,” she says.

“We’re all as good as dead,” Keg says. “You’re just a little further along than the rest of us.”

“What the fuck,” Yasha says.

Beau doesn’t look away from Keg. “Ignore her. She’s talking bullshit.”

“Beauregard,” Shakaste sighs.

Beau abruptly breaks away from Keg, letting her back to the ground. Keg coughs in a breath. She’s shaking. They’re all shaking, Yasha realises. She’s so cold.

Beau turns on her heel and strides towards the door. On the way, she catches Yasha’s hand and drags her along.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Yasha follows.

…

…

If Molly was good at anything, it was keeping secrets.

Yasha can’t tell a lie to save her life. There’s a blunt straightforwardness to her that doesn’t do well under subterfuge. If someone is telling an untruth, Yasha is the last person in the room to know.

Molly, though. Molly could say the sky was green with such conviction that people would believe him.

“Don’t listen to her,” Beau says, tugging her further down the hall. Her knuckles are white under the pressure that she’s putting into holding onto Yasha’s hand. Yasha follows, quietly, and thinks of what Molly would say.

In the end, she’s not good with ghosts anymore than she’s good with lies. She says, “Okay”, and doesn’t say anything else.

…

…

“Are you sure about this?” Caduceus says.

Yasha just looks at him.

Caduceus grins, wide and sharp in a way that Yasha would have never pegged for him. There’s something so unassuming about his tall, rail thin appearance; the pink hair is a distraction. Camouflage. Nobody cruel could ever have pink hair.

“I’m not going to let them die,” she says.

Caduceus laughs to himself. Yasha wonders if they’re made of the same kind of steel, or if she’s just wishing things were different. Would she do this with Molly? Or is Molly the one suggesting it?

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

…

…

 

Stealing a Jaeger is – surprisingly easy, once Yasha realises Caduceus’s older sister has terrorised her workers into submission. She has yet to meet the elder Clay, and at this point she’s a little bit too terrified to say: “Hi! Nice to meet you! Sorry I’m about to kill your little brother!”

It probably wouldn’t even come out that coherently, either. Yasha has so many problems with words.

Walking in the Drift is always a challenge. Fighting is smooth – punching, slashing: all easy. It’s walking that always tripped (Yasha snorts to herself, much to Caduceus’ amusement) her and Molly up. Neither of them had been very grounded people. Learning to run had come before their baby steps had even been an afterthought.

With Caduceus, walking – there’s an eerie feel of weightlessness to it. Yasha has always felt too heavy for the ground to properly hold her. Left, right, left, right. The further out to sea they go, the further away from gravity Yasha feels. Paradoxically, the heavier the controls become. Yasha is used to taking all the weight, but Caduceus – Caduceus holds his own. Better than Molly in some aspects, certainly. As Caduceus had pointed out: Molly had been very thin, and very small. Not much muscle in the end of it.

In her head – in Caduceus’ head – in their head, Molly makes an amused sound of outrage.

“I’m not short,” he says. He doesn’t even bother to refute his slimness.

“You’re shorter than both of us,” Yasha says. Outside, water swells around the reinforced glass of the cockpit. Left, right, left right: walking onward and forward and away from everything. Yasha’s floaty feeling does not dissipate.

“You’re both giants,” Molly says. His voice echoes around the otherwise empty cockpit, Caduceus and Yasha both beginning to sweat in their harnesses. No matter how many times Yasha has done this, she always starts to sweat the moment the first plate of armour goes on. Caduceus murmurs a small sound of agreement from over on his side. Together, they’re riding the Drift.

Three hours later, the intercom crackles to life.

“Well,” Caduceus says serenely as he listens to the babble of expletives that is being rained down upon both of them. “It looks like they figured out what we did.”

“A little early,” Yasha says, frowning.

Inside of her skin, Caduceus forms her shoulders into a shrug. Clarabelle is scary, but the night before the last big push was bound to attract some attention. It could have been as simple as one of the pilots not being able to go to sleep and wandering into the hanger, lost and lonely.

Yasha doesn’t want to think about that. Caduceus is kind enough to drag the thought away and smother it.

Beau’s voice abruptly cuts off from the intercom, and then Shakaste’s smooth tone comes through. There isn’t a hint of nerves in it, no matter that enough nuclear weapons to raze a small country has just disappeared into the abyss. Clarabelle had very helpfully disabled their GPS coordinates, though it probably wasn’t too much of a guess as to where they were going.

“What do you think you two are doing?”

Caduceus answers for them, when Yasha’s tongue gets knotted at the back of her throat.

“Completing the mission,” he says. He grins, sharp. Yasha has loved so many sharp people. “Sir.”

“Half at once,” Shakaste says. “Wait for the other Jaegers to get there. You need to stick to the plan.”

Yasha wants to laugh, so Caduceus does that for her, too.

“We’ll be waiting at the Breach,” he says, and cuts off the coms.

The silence gouges deeply into the space between them. Yasha is breathing heavily, and she hasn’t even said a single word. Next to her, Molly is laughing, because Molly is a dick.

“Beau sounded mad,” Yasha eventually says.

“Just a bit,” Caduceus says.

“I’m never going to get to apologise.”

“Probably not, no.”

Yasha thinks about that. Left, right, left right.

“Oh, well,” she thinks. Molly pats her shoulder. Caduceus says nothing.

They keep walking.

…

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god episode 69 what the fuck. we started with master debating and ended up. here. 
> 
> i'm so tired you guys.
> 
> i've got a oneshot in the works from beau's POV that i'll post...at some point. no promises on dates, because you guys know how well that worked last time :P
> 
> thanks to everyone who reviewed on my last chapter. hoepfully you guys like this one too!

**Author's Note:**

> next part should be up next week!!
> 
> sorry for the radio silence, hope this makes up for it <3
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://mnemememory.tumblr.com/)!


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